Chess with Sherlock
by Emmylou
Summary: Rory and Amy want to meet Sherlock Holmes. They can't understand why he seems to think they're talking about a fictional Victorian detective. He can't understand why they think Sherlock Holmes is real and living in 2010.


**Title:** Chess with Sherlock

**Genre: **Crossover Doctor Who/Sherlock (BBC)

**Disclaimer: **Doctor Who belongs to Steven Moffatt and the BBC, Sherlock belongs to Arthur Conan-Doyle, Stephen Moffatt, and the BBC.

**Pairings:** Rory/Amy, Gen.

**Spoilers: **Up to Study in Pink for Sherlock and the finale of DW (Amy and Rory are married but that's all you need to know.) Also very vague spoilers for Human Nature.

**Summary: **Rory and Amy want to meet Sherlock Holmes. They can't understand why he seems to think they're talking about a fictional Victorian detective. He can't understand why they think Sherlock Holmes is real and living in 2010.

**A/N:** Based on this prompt from sherlockbbc_fic on LJ : So, Amy Pond is a huge Sherlock Holmes fan... history probably couldn't take it, but I'm sure _this_ Sherlock is more than up to the challenge.  
This Sherlock crossover is based on the new BBC series (starring Benedict Cumberbatch and written by Steven Moffatt). If you haven't seen it RUN don't walk to download it.

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"London?" the Doctor sighed. "I offer you the entire universe and you want to go to London?"

He sighed, looking rather like a parent who has already sat through fifty repeats of Barney the Dinosaur and is dreading another. "I understand humans have a hard time adjusting to the concept of alien worlds, but can't we at least get out of England? What about Botswana? Or Austria? I have a feeling this incarnation might be an excellent skier..."

Amy and Rory were sat on the staircase in the TARDIS. Amy was in her usual position, leaning against Rory's side.

"I don't want to go skiing," sighed Amy. "I want to meet Sherlock Holmes and see if he can beat you at chess. Rory reckons he can give even your brain a run for its money. We've got a bet on about it."

She grinned in a 'please please please can we go?' manner.

The Doctor froze in the middle of theatrically stabbing a button on the console and frowned. "Sherlock Holmes?"

"You do know who he is?" asked Amy, talking to the Doctor as though he were the small child rather than the put-upon parent in this scenario.

The Doctor looked affronted. "Of course I know who he is! Me and Arthur Conan-Doyle are like this..." he crossed his fingers. "Or at least we were; I've changed a bit since then."

Amy frowned, completely lost at this babble of information. "Who?"

"Arthur Conan-Doyle," said the Doctor. "One of the great British writers of all time. Creator of Sherlock Holmes..."

He paused to take in the baffled expressions on the faces of his companions.

"You do know Sherlock Holmes isn't real?" he said carefully.

Amy laughed and stretched out her long legs in front of her. "Of course he's real! We've been following his website for ages back home."

"No, he's not real," the Doctor insisted.

"He is," said Rory. "He lives at 221b Baker Street."

The Doctor looked from one to the other carefully, as if weighing up whether they were winding him up. "Riight. OK then! 221b Baker Street. Off we go!"

Amy and Rory grinned in excitement and Amy dashed off to collect a chess set from the library. By the time she had returned (with an ornamental one they had bought in China in 1712 that would have made a Christie's auctioneer weep with joy) the TARDIS was settling down and seconds later the Doctor waved them towards the door.

"221b Baker Street," he announced as they darted out of the door ahead of him. "But I promise you...he won't be there."

He had barely taken two steps outside the door after them when he was faced with the two unimpressed expressions of his companions. Amy had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot impatiently. Rory had his hands in his pockets, amused.

"Doctor!"

"What?" he asked. "Look, there's 221b Baker Street. I promise you the only person living there is a lovely old lady called Mrs. Beeching."

"Look around," said Amy waving her hand around at the scenery. "Carriages. Corsets. Horses. Women in big hats. We're about a hundred years too early!"

"Look, there's a Penny Farthing!" pointed Rory.

The Doctor once again looked from one to the other as if he'd suddenly been dropped in a giant mystery. "Right. So when exactly should Sherlock Holmes live at 221b Baker Street?"

"Our time," said Amy. "Obviously. From 2010 onwards."

"Obviously." echoed the Doctor. "And you know this...how?"

Rory led the three of them back into the TARDIS, and moved over to the console. A few seconds later a website, '_The Science of Deduction_', popped up on the screen. "See," he explained.

The Doctor peered at it, flicking through the pages far faster than he could have read them.

"That's impossible. Look there's even a Dr. Watson. He's got a blog."

Amy rested her chin on the Doctor's shoulder. "So let's go meet them then!"

"But it's impossible," said the Doctor, almost to himself. "They're books!"

"Books?"

"Yes! Books! Short stories! Sherlock Holmes is the creation of Arthur Conan-Doyle. He's ingrained on the public consciousness! Deerstalkers! Pipes! 'Elementary my dear Watson!' _Basil the Great Mouse Detective_! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"What's a Deerstalker?" asked Amy.

With a shout of frustration the Doctor darted out of the console room, leaving a puzzled Amy and Rory behind. Twenty minutes later the Doctor had still not returned, and an hour later they had set up the chess-board for themselves. Rory had just swooped in to capture Amy's queen (with much gloating) when the Doctor appeared looking dejected.

"I've searched the library, and the living room, and under the sink, and even my bedroom – and it took me ten minutes to remember where that was. I can't find the books anywhere. It's like they never existed."

"There's no mention of him anywhere?" asked Rory.

"Oh yes," said the Doctor, looking (if possible) more concerned. "Plenty. He's legendary – one of the great minds of the twenty-first century. By 2132 there won't be a person on earth who hasn't heard of Holmes and Watson. It doesn't make sense – it's like the future has changed to fit him into it as a real person!"

"So your saying that this guy has suddenly gone from being a fictional detective to real? And about a hundred years out of time? And that he'll be famous in the future?" said Rory.

"Exactly," said the Doctor. Then he brightened. "But you're right about one thing Amy, if Sherlock Holmes is a real person, this will definitely be more interesting than skiing. And I'll definitely beat him at chess."

"Sherlock? John?" Mrs. Hudson called through the door.

Sherlock, his fingers peaked and deep in thought and looking out into the street, made no indication he had heard her; so John stood up to answer it.

"Yes?"

"Oh John," she said with a relieved look. "You've got visitors. They're here to see Sherlock about some problem. I told them that Sherlock was having one of his days..." she nodded towards Sherlock who hadn't moved. "But they insisted."

She came into the flat and began to move about absently tidying up anything that didn't look too repulsive to be touched.

John looked towards the people standing in the doorway. There were two men and a woman, all in their twenties. The woman was pale, pretty, and friendly looking – dressed casually and somewhat haphazardly. She was holding hands with the second man, who again was looking around with interest. The first man though glared at John as though he suspected him of some crime.

"There's even a Mrs. Hudson," he muttered with something like amazement. "And I take it you're Dr. Watson."

"John," said John. "Er, come in. This is Sherlock."

The three entered, the younger two looking as though they were on some sort of school trip. "Your blog is brilliant!" said the second man, who introduced himself as Rory and pumped John's hand up and down. "We're big fans of both of you."

John, who had only written a few entries, was surprised that anyone he didn't know had stumbled across it, much less become a fan of it. "Are you?"

"Oh yes, but then you get thousands of internet hits a day so I'm sure you're used to it," said the girl cheerfully. She was Scottish, and when she stuck out her hand she introduced herself as Amy Pond.

"Do I?" said John. "I only started it a few weeks ago."

The girl's smile floundered and the third man shot her an impatient look. He'd been looking suspiciously at Sherlock as though he was an exhibit in the zoo. "Not yet it doesn't." he said, more to his companion than to John.

For a lack of anything else to say, John called out to Mrs. Hudson. "Er, tea for the guests Mrs. Hudson?"

Mrs. Hudson shot him a reproachful look, but stuck the kettle on anyway. The third man – wearing an unfashionable tweed jacket and bow tie - sunk into John's chair as though he lived there. He stretched his legs out and crossed his ankles.

"Well I must say I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be sat in front of Sherlock Holmes," he said conversationally. "I'm a big fan."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, though he didn't move a muscle. His gaze was still fixed out of the window.

"That's the second time your group has claimed to be a fan," he said, low and thoughtful. "Just who are you who calls yourself my 'fan'?"

"I'm the Doctor," said the man. He leaned forward to stare at Sherlock's back. "And you shouldn't exist."

"You say I shouldn't exist," said Sherlock. He turned around to look at the Doctor slowly. "By my reckoning neither should you."

"What makes you say that?" asked Amy excitedly. "I bet it's our clothes right? Or some tiny detail that no one but you would possibly have noticed."

Sherlock glanced at her, then back at the Doctor. "Actually it's because I was looking out of the window when I saw a 1960s police box appear in the street and you three come out." He smiled sardonically and rested his forefinger thoughtfully against his chin. "Time travellers? You were talking about the future? I at first thought you might be the mysterious Moriarty, but I doubt you would announce yourself so blatantly if you were."

The Doctor smiled as though Sherlock had done a particularly good trick. "Oh you're just like I thought you'd be!" he grinned. "And no, Moriarty is a whole different kettle of fish. But I can't tell you more. Spoilers."

They were interrupted as Mrs. Hudson brought around tea and biscuits, and with a pointed 'not- your-housekeeper' glare at John she stole his favourite biscuit for herself and let herself out.

"Time travellers?" said John, the second she was gone. He moved to peer out of the window at the police box. "That's impossible. But then, I'm getting used to that."

"And you're just like I thought you'd be too!" said the Doctor gleefully.

John rubbed at his eyes and sat down heavily at the table where he had been trying to work out his finances (not a happy job). "I don't suppose you can offer us betting tips?" he said. "Consultant-detecting isn't exactly a money-spinner."

"Why are you here?" asked Sherlock.

The mysterious Doctor started. "Oh yes, down to business. My friends here have a bet on as to whether I can beat you at chess. I thought you might fancy the challenge. I'm very good."

"What do I get if I win?" said Sherlock.

"I don't think you're the sort of man that needs an incentive to prove your intelligence," said the Doctor.

"Oh I'm not," said Sherlock, "but I'd like a prize none-the-less when I win."

The Doctor leaned back as Amy set up the chess set between them. "How about I offer a deal?" he suggested. "While we play I get to ask you questions about yourself. When the game is over I take us all to Gamma Viva Four circa 5560 for dinner and Rory – who will have lost the bet – can pay."

"Deal," said Sherlock.

For the first hour the two players stared at each other, weighing each other up.

Three hours later Amy was regretting suggesting this, because as interesting as hearing the Doctor quiz Sherlock and John was, four hours of chess is devastatingly dull. Especially when the two players seemed to be thinking forty moves ahead; and as yet they had only made three actual moves each. John, who had also been answering questions whenever the Doctor directed them at him, was explaining what looked to be an experiment using a human finger to Rory.

"Boys," she finally snapped. "Let's go for food now."

"The game-" said Sherlock.

"The bet-" said the Doctor.

"Great idea," said John and Rory.

"You've got a time machine Doctor," said Amy, "you can pop back any time you feel like it and continue the long and very boring game. Me and Rory will probably be old and grey when you finish anyway."

The Doctor was always in his element showing new people around the TARDIS, and (in fact) showing them anything, so dinner on an alien planet was always going to be fun. Amy made the Doctor pay, was offended by Sherlock twice (John said that meant he practically liked her), and the Doctor threw in a quick tour around the solar system as a bonus. Amy hadn't seen him so giddy since they met Jane Austen.

"Right," he said as he landed the TARDIS outside the flat (thankfully in the right century). "Here you are. Home. 221b Baker Street, London, England, Earth..."

The five of them made their goodbyes (or at least John did, Sherlock wasn't one to make social niceties) and they watched them head out of the TARDIS. Before they left Sherlock turned to look at the Doctor.

"You're not going to come and finish the chess game, are you?" he stated.

"No," the Doctor shook his head. "I can't get involved in your lives." He looked genuinely regretful.

"You can keep the chess set though," he offered. "Take it to Christie's and auction it off. They'll get terribly excited about it and the money should fund both of your consultant-detecting for some time to come."

John looked stunned, Sherlock only nodded as if it all made perfect sense.

"For the record," said Sherlock before he left, "I would have won."

When their guests were gone and the TARDIS was once again in orbit, Amy rounded on the Doctor.

"Why aren't you going back?" she demanded. "You and him could be all geeky with each other and solve crimes."

"He's got Dr. Watson- John for that," said the Doctor mildly. "Besides, their time-line is fragile enough as it is without me risking it further,"

"What do you mean?" asked Rory from where he was slumped on the stairs.

"It wasn't hard. It only took a few answers from each of them to work out what had happened," the Doctor explained. "They aren't real."

"Yes they are," said Amy. "Definitely human, definitely real."

"Oh _human_." said the Doctor submissively. "That's easy. Doesn't make them real."

Amy put her hands on her hips. "Explain," she ordered.

"I've seen it before – lives that have been built rather than actually lived," said the Doctor. "I've experienced it. They answered questions about their lives as if they'd been taught them. The only times their answers had any real quality or depth was when they spoke about recent events; meaning that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson – as they exist now – only came into existence recently."

"That...makes no sense," said Rory.

The Doctor leaned against the console to explain further. "When I looked in the library earlier their existence changes all sorts of things in the future. This is the time the police force should be failing – and it should collapse completely in 2020. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson change that. Hundreds of thousands of crimes will be solved using their techniques – not to mention the hundreds they'll solve in their own lifetimes. Someone has used Arthur Conan-Doyle's stories as a template to ensure the future of criminal investigation."

"So what...they lied to us then?" said Amy.

"Oh no," said the Doctor. "They really think they are John Watson and Sherlock Holmes – and his genius couldn't be created. Whoever did this probably had to wait a hundred years to find a man with the intelligence capabilities to be Sherlock Holmes. They've had to alter timelines, change memories, and turn them into real versions of fictional characters. It won't just be the two of them – Mrs. Hudson, probably Lestrade, Mycroft, even Moriarty – their lives have all be re-created to fit into the storyline based on their natural personalities. That's why I can't go back – it won't take too much interference before a man like Sherlock Holmes will figure out that his life doesn't add up."

Amy and Rory shared a horrified look. "But who did it?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Could be anyone with access to 51st century equipment. Would have been hard, and taken a lot of effort and money. Probably Time Agency – it's the flashy sort of thing they'd do. Or River – though I'll kill her if it was."

"Aren't you going to undo it?" said Rory. "You normally go a bit mental when people mess around with time."

The Doctor shrugged. "It'll have taken an insane amount of effort, and if I tried to undo it I risk doing far more damage in the long run. Besides – think of the good a real life Sherlock Holmes could do. Has done. Will do. According to my research Arthur Conan-Doyle died after writing a series of fantasy novels that, if not literary genius, earned him money and respect – so he's no worse off. And I can remember the original stories word for word if they're ever needed again – I might even write them down for you to read."

Decision made, the Doctor started moving around the console. "Now...skiing I think! But not on earth."

He turned on the tap, yanked a lever, and started bossing Amy and Rory about. "And for the record," he shouted over the wheezing of the TARDIS, "I so would have won at chess."

The End.

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Please let me know what you think.


End file.
